


Love in the time of Hydra

by seasonschange



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 12 percent crack, Angst, AoU never happened, Dubious Consent, Fluff, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Oneshot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Power Bottom Bucky, Rumlow didn't burn down with that building, Sub Steve, The focus is the aftermath and not really their time with HYDRA, Tony Feels, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasonschange/pseuds/seasonschange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve goes after his best friend, instead of finding Bucky he loses himself.</p><p>(or Steve gets captured by Hydra and becomes the Winter Soldier #2, and things happen between him and the other Soldier. Then they are saved by SHIELD, only to discover that their nightmare has only just begun...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Sputnik thing from the comics. Unbeta'd, no spoilers for AoS.

"Which one are we sending this time, agent?"

Rumlow glanced in annoyance at the twitchy little scientist who was peering through the round window in one of the assets' cryochambers.

"The mission only requires one of them," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "But do the usual, I guess; thaw both Soldiers and see that they're ready in 2 hours."

The scientist saluted and went back to her console, engaging the thawing procedure. Rumlow ignored the salute and left the lab, the sound of his feet against the marble floor echoing through the hallway as he was headed to his quarters.

He fucking hated playing babysitter with the two assets,  _especially_  now that they were constantly assigned to go on the field as a pair.

The way they could communicate without even a single glance was way too unnerving, even though Rumlow knew they couldn't possibly be plotting behind his back. They simply didn't have that option in their programming. All they could do was listen to Rumlow's instructions and see that the target was taken down with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of secrecy. Handling these two enhanced Hydra dolls wasn't the hardest job in the world. Admittedly, Rumlow had been through worse situations. But it was, however, _deeply_ unpleasant.

Besides their almost freaky connection on the field that made them look like synchronized dancers, the _looks_ they would give each other after a successful kill were the other reason for Rumlow's annoyance. _God_ , only remembering them made him feel nauseous. 

Rumlow had reported the situation to Secretary Pierce, of course. It was in every single one of his mission reports, for crying out loud. He'd asked why they were allowed to be sent together, what was the gain in exposing their latest acquisition, the Captain, so recklessly when they knew the Avengers had to be suspecting his disappearance... why no one ever stopped them from fucking each other senseless in the recovery room after a mission around the world.

 _"Do you even know what these two animals are up to once we're back to base?"_ he'd barked one day when he'd been unable to restrain himself anymore, making everyone in the room freeze and look at him in shock. 

Secretary Pierce had let him say his piece, not uttering a single word or showing any trace of emotion. Then to Rumlow's horror he'd merely shrugged, and proceeded to explain: "Our research has shown that they are both more efficient when paired up. And I've been advised to allow them a little _tumbling_ from time to time to maintain their bond. Thanks to that, it seems that we don't even have to go through the tedious process of reintroducing them to each other after each wiping. If it can save Hydra time and money, I will bear it and so will _you_ , Brock."

_Fuck you, Alex, it's not you who's got to feel like you're interrupting their honeymoon!_

If Rumlow had had a say in it, he'd have added 'sexual inhibition' to the Winter Soldier program. He didn't care that it helped the two assets relieve the excess of energy they had running through their unnatural bodies; energy that they couldn't possibly burn entirely with the sparse missions they were assigned, and that they almost always managed to finish way ahead of schedule. He didn't care that ever since they had managed to capture Steve Rogers and successfully wipe and reprogram the man into a killing machine at the service of Hydra, his former best pal had started to behave more than he'd ever done in the last 70 years, following the scientists reports.

He didn't give a  _flying fuck._ Not when  _he_ was the one who had to suffer through the heated looks and suggestive touches.

_Ugh._

At least, they didn't use pet names or stuff like that. They weren't human enough anymore to even remember those things.

Rumlow had no way of knowing if that was how 'the great' Steve Rogers and 'the heroic' Bucky Barnes used to be with each other, back in their own time. But one thing he knew for sure was that whatever their relationship used to be, it was far from platonic nowadays, and it had nothing to do with the programming. The Hydra scientists were a bunch of sadistic sons of bitches, but for all he knew, they'd never shown any perverse streak.

This was all Steve and Bucky, and Rumlow  _hated_ it.

* * *

Inside the recovery room, the asset was leaning back on his hands, scrutinizing the man currently sitting on the other operating table. The last of the scientists were just clearing out the room after checking both men for any wounds and taking account of how much repair the metal arm would need after tonight's mission.

He personally didn't feel like his arm had sustained any damage worth fussing over. As long as he could flex his fingers and was able to pull the trigger, he considered it perfectly operational. But Hydra was of another opinion entirely, and the asset knew he had many hours of repairs ahead. He didn't mind, though. They would most likely drug him to keep him calm, and the asset didn't mind being artificially put under. He had found out he was capable of a certain level of consciousness during the chemically-induced sleep, and it was nice to have some peace and quiet during those sessions. At least for a while.

It was way, _way_ preferable to the cryochamber.

The asset hated it. He didn't know how many times he'd been inside, and didn't remember much after the initial _vicious_ stab of cold that'd freeze him to the very marrow of his bones. He had no recollection of what happened then. But if falling in cryosleep was already bad,  _waking up_ from it was even worse.

The asset always woke up shaking and hurting all over, his limbs completely unresponsive for  _hours,_ with a very unpleasant and lingering sensation, similar to waking up in the middle of a terrifying nightmare. The asset had also woken up many times with a silent scream, heart beating fast and painfully against his ribcage, convinced he was falling.

Later tonight, he knew that the boss would come to ask about the asset's mission report, because the asset (and his silent companion) had reached places and seen and heard things that their handler — agent  _something_  — couldn't reach or see or hear himself, too constrained by his very average nature. The two assets though,  _they_  were capable of superhuman prowess, and were extremely valuable to Hydra in that regard. Usually, their handler stood back and let them do their work without interfering, which was for the best. Before the other man had shown up, the asset remembered... that he wasn't a very compliant team member. He'd abandoned countless agents on the field, some who could have been saved and some who couldn't, simply because he always failed to see how their survival would help in the fulfillment of the mission at hand.

The asset's companion was the first man he'd let come close, and the first he'd deemed worth saving if he ever fell or got badly injured during an operation. The asset didn't explain it to himself; he didn't need to. He would always come back for him. It was a certainty that lived inside of him, bright like a burning star, always there to keep his scarce thoughts company.

 _Company_ , the asset thought, biting his lip underneath the black Kevlar mask still strapped over the lower half of his face. They never let neither of them take those off without permission, and the asset wouldn't dare disobey a direct order. He couldn't even  _think_ of disobeying. He just felt the mask there, and knew it was not yet time to take it off.

The other man wore his mask too, similar to the asset's own. And as if feeling the asset's eyes on him, the man looked up; big, clear blue irises locking on him like a deathtrap.

No escape.

The asset let out a rush of breath, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

They were both shirtless from the medical inspection they'd had to be put through, and the asset could distinctly see the lines of the other man's chiseled chest and abdomen, and the pink nipples that had pebbled from the cold air. He was always fascinated by that expanse of golden, flawless skin.

The asset had very few memories of his past missions, or the people who always seemed to be swarming every Hydra base; the only constants in his life seemed to be the cryochamber, and the other man. The asset  _knew_ those cold, expressionless eyes, from even before tonight's mission. He knew that close-cropped blond hair; knew its texture between the fingers of his live hand, knew how it felt brushing against the bare skin of his stomach, and its soft caress between his thighs. He knew those shoulders, those hands, he even knew the rich, deep voice he so rarely got to hear. This other asset, the  _other_  Winter Soldier, wasn't very talkative aside from when he was forced to by either the boss or the special circumstances of a mission.

It was a shame. The asset couldn't say he appreciated many things in life. But that voice, and the man it belonged to? He liked them. He liked them a lot. They made him feel... safe. Safer than he'd ever felt.

The blond soldier was still holding his gaze, face unreadable underneath the mask, but his eyes showcasing all the heat and want and intention the asset had been waiting for. He never made the first move. He was pretty sure that the first time they'd done... _this_ , he'd again let the other man decide if it was happening or not. He'd waited for that small, almost imperceptible nod; the way the other man's shoulders had gradually relaxed under the asset's hungry gaze; the way his legs had slowly fallen open, as if luring him in,  _inviting_ him in.

The moment the asset remembered that part, unused to memories resurfacing so easily, the man sitting on the other operation table turned and laid down on the table on his back, never once breaking eye contact. The asset sighed, body going all hot and heavy and _ready_ in front of such display. If he could, that was all he and the other man would be doing each time they were out of the cryosleep. This was far better than going outside on missions, even though the asset could never wait to feel the kiss of the sun on his pale skin again, and the caress of the wind on his face.

The asset stood up, and as he made his way to the other table, he saw a tremor run through the man's body, making him clutch the edges of the metallic table on either side until it bent. The asset smiled underneath his mask, his breath sounding loud to his ears. The other man was already panting too, and that's when the asset knew he couldn't wait any longer. Neither of them could. 

In less than a fraction of a second he was on top of the blond man, bodies crashing into one another, rubbing against each other, the sensation of skin against skin making them both groan in satisfaction. The asset was so rarely touched like this,  _completely_ held in another's embrace, and sometimes that simple meeting of flesh was bordering on too much. The other man's body against him, his _hands_  roaming all over him felt like he was being branded by white-hot metal. That kind of contact was too close, too intense, too unlike the careful handling of the scientists and it made him want to scream; scream until his vocal cords broke and all he could do was whimper like a wounded animal. It made him want to lash out at the cold gloved hands touching him all the time, because he could be getting _this_ instead. Those thoughts scared him, because they were  _forbidden_ , but he could never stop himself from thinking them. _  
_

Sometimes the proximity drove the Soldier on the verge of madness, and sometimes it didn't.

This time, the heat and the solid presence of the other's body was like a thick layer of balm applied directly to his nerves, soothing him inside and out. And instead of freaking out, the Soldier decided to indulge his partner and sat up from where he lay sprawled on top of the man, bringing his still covered crotch closer to the other man's face. He watched the other Soldier rub his mask against the outline of the bulge inside his combat pants, and the choked whine that escaped the other man's lips when he was granted his favorite activity made heat bloom inside the Winter Soldier's chest. He never knew what the other man was trying to achieve like this. They'd after all never been granted the luxury of doing this without their masks on, and neither remembered the way they could pleasure someone with the use of their mouths only. They had never even thought about their lips meeting.

The asset only knew that as long as it felt this good, he was ready to let the other act like a cat in heat all he wanted.

Shame wasn't part of the Winter Soldier program. If anything, it was completely erased from both men's behavior, allowing the Hydra agents the luxury of all kinds of degrading treatments on their assets without the fear of any backlash. And cradled between the asset's thighs, the blond didn't spare a thought about how depraved they both looked in that position. The heat of the other man's skin radiating through the black combat pants surrounding him and the sensations filling his senses to the brim all combined to make the blond man purr in delight and push his face against the coarse fabric of the asset's pants even more, needing and wanting something he could not explain; not even to himself. Looking up, he saw the man with the gorgeous wavy brown hair looming over him with intent in his dark blue eyes, turned darker with desire. His metal fingers carefully threaded through the man's short blond hair when he caught him staring, before gripping it unexpectedly. The blond man moaned and panted as he was forced away from the man's crotch, lips crushed against the interior of his mask, helplessly aroused and eyes begging for more.

The asset seemed to understand, because he let go of the small tuft of blond hair and scooted down the man's body and then off. And before the blond could mistake his intentions, the asset unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, getting rid of all remaining items of clothing in one go.

The blond man didn't move as he watched, hands hovering over the seam of his own pants. He knew the asset would get angry if he took them off himself. He felt like it had happened before, and the punishment had been harsh. The asset had made him wait and wait and  _wait so long_ before allowing him any release. And the blond man wanted to be taken care of, not punished. He wanted to be rewarded for being obedient, in ways he didn't care when it came to Hydra. He obeyed Hydra because he saw no other options. Hydra was the only way, the only answer, the only acceptable path to follow.

The asset was a conscious choice the man had made, and the thrill of making such a... a decision... was  _intoxicating_.

The asset stepped away from his pants and underwear and then stood for a moment immobile in all his naked glory — strong and hard and somehow vulnerable too, in nothing but his black Kevlar mask and the curtain of dark brown hair shielding most of his face. Growing impatient, the other Soldier looked his fill but then couldn't help calling him back, softly, as if afraid the Hydra agents would hear him speak up and burst into the room to force him into silence.

"Come back," he breathed, too low for any human ear to catch it.

But they weren't human, and the asset's head snapped up to look into the blond man's clear blue eyes with something akin to surprise. With a growl, he climbed back on top of the other man and attacked his pants like an enraged animal would, grabbing and tearing until he'd released the blond man's cock from its confines.

Then it was nothing but mind numbing ecstasy.

The Winter Soldier took good care of the man's hardness in his unyielding metal hand while he was stretching himself on his own human fingers, craving the burn and the pain as much as he did the pleasure. His body didn't need as much preparation as it used to, or as he _thought_ he remembered it used to, and soon enough he was enthusiastically fingering himself open for the other man.

Before long the blond man's hips were bucking up into his silver fist, crying out every time the asset teasingly swept a metal finger underneath the head, or pushed against the slit, _hard_ , an appreciative groan escaping his lips when the other man's juices coated the shiny surface, smoothing his strokes.

_"Now?"_

The asset didn't even notice he'd switched to Russian, all focus directed on the man shaking underneath him. A drop of sweat rolled down the bridge of his nose and landed on the other man's mask where his mouth should be as he panted heavily behind his own mask, waiting for permission.

For a wild second, the asset tried to imagine what the man's mouth would look like underneath that piece of Kevlar. How plush the lips would be, how  _red_  from being relentlessly sucked and bitten. How prettily they'd shine, slick with sweat and saliva and come...

" _P-please_ ," the blond breathed back in flawless German, brain too fried at that moment to realize he'd used the wrong language; both understanding each other nonetheless.

Permission granted, the asset forgot his wandering thoughts and didn't waste any more time sitting down in the other man's lap, grip tight on the man's cock as he nestled it between his ass cheeks with the confidence of someone for whom the intricacies of sex between two men had no secrets anymore. He slowly sank down on the blond's hard member, body opening up gradually to accept the welcome intrusion, eyes flashing to the other man's slack-jawed face.

The asset knew this situation could very easily get dangerous. He was utterly exposed and unarmed and letting  _another_ inside of him; letting him learn his body and learn all the ways to utterly conquer every part of his being. But the asset was also the one on top, the one who called the shots, the one  _in control_. And that knowledge always made his spine turn to jelly as he molded his body to the man moaning wetly underneath him.

This was  _good_. As much as the asset was constantly in someone's care; the scientists', his handler's, the boss'; he'd never get all that he needed from those interactions. They would never be able to scratch that  _itch_  deep inside of him like this man could. They would never hold _so tight_ onto him, and make him feel like he could _shatter_ in their embrace.

Both Soldiers craved this connection, and nothing could stop them from taking what they needed. Not even Hydra.

With a possessive hand curled around the back of the blond man's head, and the other forearm flat on the operating table to help him keep his balance, the Winter Soldier started rolling his hips, gyrating on top of the hard shaft spearing him in two, the constant burn quickly making way to white-hot pleasure.

"More," the blond man whined behind his mask, writhing helplessly on the table and the asset was more than happy to grant his request.

* * *

 Due to their unnatural biology, Hydra's assets proceeded to fuck in the recovery room for the next couple of hours, taking breaks only to change positions and find new angles, discovering new and wonderful ways to draw even more pleasure from each other's bodies; never once slowing down their wild rhythm, both dancing on the edge for the longest time.

It was the blond man who came first, masked face buried in the Winter Soldier's neck. His muffled high-pitched moans as he was cresting then riding his orgasm set fire to the other Winter Soldier's pleasure points all at once. He was still bouncing on top of the other man's cock, squeezing it and milking it for all it was worth until the sensations were too much and he let go, muscles contracting all over in a delightful spasm, head hung low as he orgasmed across the blond man's tense abdomen in long, hot spurts.

When his muscles eventually relaxed and gave out, the asset collapsed on top of the blond man, punching the breath out of them both.

They lay in silence as they waited for the waves of pleasure to ebb, the asset running metal fingers gently down the other's flank without an afterthought, almost on autopilot.

A handful of minutes later their breathing had slowed back down and they disengaged from each other, their bodies slick with sweat and quickly drying semen. The asset went back to his operating table without a look back, sat down in a perfect mirror position of the other man's, waiting for the scientists to come back and wash them up and prepare them for the debriefing of their mission.

Not once did they share any meaningful glances while they waited. What they had done could simply hold _no_  meaning for either of them, other than in the heat of the moment.

Hydra had made sure of that.

* * *

"When were they brought in? Is the Cap alright?"

Tony's hands were shaking, back resting against the large window pane of his office, on the very top of the Avengers Tower. He was staring fixedly at the ceiling and praying that one of the few people he had the privilege of calling his best friends was not about to come back home in more than one patriotic, _solid_ piece.

"Steve's doing fine, Tony, relax."

Natasha's voice came in through the loudspeakers hidden in every corner of the room, soothing Tony's frayed nerves.

"I was told that he and Barnes were extracted from a Hydra base near Sokovia by the new SHIELD."

"There's a new SHIELD? Wait, why am I even surprised, of course there would be one. Nick's a resilient son of a bitch."

"About that... Nick's not the director anymore. But that would have to wait..."

"Yeah, just tell me what the hell happened, OK? It's been 5 years, Natasha, _everything_ else can wait."

Tony's voice broke at the end of the sentence, and he had to take a deep, shaky breath, hoping against hope that she wouldn't notice how affected he'd been by Steve's disappearance. The Avengers hadn't had the opportunity of a proper reunion ever since Steve had decided to go on a rescue mission with his friend Sam, with only Sam resurfacing after months of radio silence with the news of Steve's capture, and probable death at the hands of Hydra.

No one had believed that, though. Accepting Captain America's death just wasn't an option. Except for Tony.

The Avengers had been a mess after the news of Steve's capture had hit. Before that, they'd only been worried that Steve had maybe found his best friend and decided to go dark to protect him, and cut off all contact with his friends. When Steve had left, he'd done it without warning anyone but Natasha, probably from fear of being stopped. Tony knew that he'd have tried to prevent Steve from going. Hell, he knew Clint and Thor would have had a thing or two to say about trying to chase murderous ghosts, and hoping to bring them back to reason. In Tony's opinion, Bucky was lost a long time ago, and what Steve had hoped to accomplish was nothing but chasing after the past. 

And Tony knew maybe better than most that you could never bring back what's been once lost. 

"Alright. They brainwashed him, Tony. Steve was working for Hydra all this time, and we didn't even know it."

From the other end of the line, Natasha got the surprise of her life when after a long silence, she recognized the small sniffing noises coming through her phone.

Tony was crying.

* * *

  _(two weeks later)_

 Coulson made the file spin on the table with a flick of his wrist, waiting for his agents to bring Steve Rogers inside the interrogation room.

He wasn't exactly going to 'interrogate' the poor man, not after all he'd been through. But SHIELD still needed details on what had happened, and they needed them ASAP, because the incident soon after they'd found and successfully rescued Rogers and Barnes... it was still hard to explain.

And Tony's broken arm was on him. Stark was a genius, and without the use of both his hands... let's say that he was probably losing a lot of money right now, and it was all because SHIELD hadn't anticipated the viciousness that Hydra was capable of. They'd brought in the two supersoldiers without even suspecting they were inviting  _wolves_  in their midst.

Coulson blamed himself for the whole fiasco, and he needed to understand where he'd gone wrong.

They needed to hear Steve's version of the story, and the man had needed weeks before his mind was his again.

Steve walked in a moment later, flanked by two agents who escorted him to his chair right in front of Coulson, and secured his wrists in big,  _hopefully_ unbreakable shackles attached to the arms of the chair. Steve frowned at them but said nothing, directing questioning eyes at the director of SHIELD instead.

"Hello, Steve," Coulson greeted him calmly, a cautious smile on his lips.

The last time he'd been in the same room as the Captain, he'd been thrown against a wall and gotten the wind knocked out of him. He kind of had every right to keep alert.

"Nice to see you made it out alive."

Steve sounded sincere, and Coulson decided it maybe wasn't the time to dump on him that he'd actually been very much dead, if only for a time, before being brought back to the living. That story would have to wait. Or better yet — remain forever classified.

"I did, thanks. I could tell you the same. We thought we'd lost you, Steve. And we almost lost you again some days ago, if you remember..."

Steve frowned again, visibly _not_ remembering.

"I don't... what do you mean 'again'? Is this why...?" He pointedly shook his wrists inside the shackles, the noise making the agents posted at the door from inside the room move restlessly, hands hovering over their stun guns.

A single look from Coulson gave them all the reassurance they needed, and they immediately returned to their silent but unobtrusive guard.

"Yes, this is why. You don't remember anything?"

Coulson scrutinized the other man's face, but he could see no traces of maliciousness in the Captain's noble features. If anything, there was confusion written all over the supersoldier's expression. That, and also fear. A lot of it.

"Tell me what happened. Has Bucky been taken by SHIELD, too? Is he alright? Is he—"

"One at a time, Steve, OK?"

Steve forced himself to take a deep breath, then tried again.

"Where is Bucky?"

"On this base, detained in his own room like you are. And he'll remain there as long as we haven't discovered the extent of what Hydra's been doing when they were messing with your brains."

"Alright. So, what happened? You rescued us?"

"We did, and it was fairly easy to get you two to cooperate. I should have known it was a trap, considering who we were dealing with. But you were alive and we'd found you, and nobody thought you could..." Coulson stopped and sighed, heavily, looking down at his steepled hands.

"Could? Could what? What the  _hell_  happened when you found us, Phil? Please, tell me, I feel like I'm suffocating with the amount of stuff you're constantly keeping away from us! It's about Bucky and me, god _damn_ it!"

Coulson didn't react at Steve's choice of words. The man had been swearing the whole place up and down ever since he'd regained consciousness, and everyone had pretty much gotten used to his explosive temper by now. It was strange to see Captain America not pretending to be this collected and ethereal god all the time, but it also felt reassuring, in a way. Coulson had an easier time picturing himself as this man's boss. He also felt more at ease knowing he was capable of losing his composure like the next man who's been put through hell.

This wasn't Captain America, Coulson had to constantly remind himself. This was Steve Rogers, just a simple man, and he needed more than ever to be treated like one.

"It took merely a couple of days to help you recover your memory, but you've been here for the past two weeks."

"Two... what? But I only... I don't remember... _Two weeks_ , are you sure?" _  
_

Coulson sighed, rubbing at his forehead to buy himself some time. He needed to break it down to him without risking another outburst. Or worse, another slip into the Winter Soldier persona. They still weren't sure what the catalyst was, after all, even if Banner and Simmons had their suspicions.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Steve looked down at his restrained wrists and bit his lip.

"I think... Tony? He came to see me."

"Good," Coulson immediately opened the file and jotted a line down. "And then?"

"Then nothing. It's a blank until I woke up this morning. I feel like it was yesterday, but... if what you say is true, I've been pretty much out of it for... weeks..."

Steve seemed lost in his own thoughts, mumbling more to himself than anything. Coulson watched him attentively, still pondering what he should say and what he should keep from the man.

"It happened when we let you see Barnes for the first time. You were brought into his room, with an escort and all the medical staff that could be needed in case something happened, and you... something happened that made your revert back."

Steve froze, and Coulson's heart clenched at the dread in those sincere, pale blue eyes when they looked up at him again. Steve was silently begging him _not_ to say what he was about to say; to maybe inform him that it was all a mistake and that none of that had actually happened, but Coulson knew the truth was always the most preferable option. And Steve deserved to know.

"You and Barnes took out the two agents escorting you, and if it hadn't been for Stark and Thor's intervention, you'd have probably killed me in the process, too. Fortunately, all the medics had left by the time you two reverted back to the Winter Soldier programming, so none of them witnessed the attack."

Steve's mouth opened, but no sound came out. The shackles jingled again, and Coulson noticed that the man's hands were shaking.

Oh, how he hated being the one to break it down to Steve Rogers. But someone had to do it, and being the director of SHIELD didn't rhyme with vacations on a yacht in the Mediterranean all year long while the rest of his team made the hard calls. Being the director meant Coulson was always the first in line when bad news needed to be announced. 

It sucked. But it was part of the job.

"For all it's worth, I'm _deeply_  sorry, for everyone involved in this mess. None of it was yours or Barnes' fault, we  _all_ know that, and the science team has been racking their brains ever since trying to understand what could have happened to make you two...  _snap_ like that. Nobody could have predicted it, and no one is to blame but Hydra."

"It was all Hydra's plan," Steve murmured darkly.

"Yes."

"They knew you'd come back for us someday, and they..."

"Planted a safety net inside your heads. If you ever got captured, they wanted you to take down the enemy from the inside. That's absolutely Machiavellian, even for Hydra. But then, they were always champions at growing right under our noses, infiltrating themselves everywhere, like _weed_."

The disgust in the director's voice made Steve flinch, and Coulson noticed with a sigh.

"I didn't mean _you_. You're not Hydra. What they did to you, to both of you, is revolting and could  _never_ be considered as cooperation. None of you will have to face trial for the regretful effects of the brainwashing, I hope we're clear on that point." _  
_

Steve looked away, misery looming over him like a very tangible presence.

"We still killed innocent people," he whispered after a long stretch of time. "It's not the judgment of men I worry about."

Coulson wanted to argue, but he knew Steve was deeply religious (although his vision could be considered very modern for someone who'd been brought up in the early 20th century), so nothing he could say would appease the man. Coulson was a believer too, in his way, and the silent prayer he sent at that moment was for God to be kind to Steve Rogers, and direct his wrath toward those who had destroyed the lives of many instead. _  
_

Maybe a change of subject was in order.

"Would you like to speak about Barnes?"

"What of him?"

Steve casually didn't look at him, but Coulson heard the apprehension creeping in his tone.

"It's OK, I found their reports on you. I know what happened between you and... Bucky."

A blush colored the apple of Steve's cheeks, and he kept drilling imaginary holes in the wall he was stubbornly staring at.

"They made us do it," he was quick to answer.

Coulson frowned. Nothing in the reports had indicated that letting the two Winter Soldiers get so close was part of a test of any kind. If anything, they seemed to have been caught off guard. But allowing it nonetheless, to keep their assets 'happy'. Which was another word for 'efficient'.

Coulson didn't think Steve believed his own words either.

"Who else...?" Steve cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable, "who else knows about this?"

"I'm the only one who needs to know."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that, what did Fury call it again? _Compartmentalizing_."

"Sassing the new director of SHIELD will get you nowhere," Coulson replied pleasantly, relaxing a bit when that remark brought a hint of a smile to Steve's lips.

"History is just repeating itself, isn't it?"

Both men fell silent at the implications of that statement. Indeed, SHIELD was back up, and once again it had found Hydra's tentacles coiled tight around its very roots.

"I won't let this blow up like last time, Steve, I promise. We'll get to the source of this problem, and we'll find a lasting solution."

Steve seemed unconvinced, but Coulson wasn't giving up so easily.

"It'll all work out, you'll see."

"I want to see Bucky," Steve countered.

"Well, we need more data, so maybe that can be arranged... again."

* * *

Feet propped on top of a rudimentary desk, Sam folded one side of the magazine he was pretending to read and looked across the detention room to the man currently banging his fists against the force field. They told him James Barnes has recovered all his mental faculties since The Accident, but Sam wasn't yet 100% convinced.

"Seriously, man, do you _never_ get tired of this?"

The man's metal fist hit the invisible barrier one final time before the man directed his furious eyes at him. Sam waited for a reply, but it never came. They just stared at each other, until Sam grew uncomfortable and finally closed the magazine he'd been holding upside down the whole time without noticing.

"You still not ready to talk, huh? You realize I'm not here to guard you, right?"

Sam stood up, and stepped closer, holding his hands behind his back in a blatantly non-threatening posture.

Barnes looked pointedly down at the gun hanging from Sam's belt, and Sam let out a surprised laugh.

"I'm under no illusions that I could stop you with that, don't worry.  _This_ , on the contrary," Sam knocked his knuckles against the force field to illustrate his words, watching understanding finally sink in into Barnes' stubborn head. "I'm here to  _talk_ , not doze in a corner while you exert yourself to death. How about that?"

"Talk about what?"

Sam's eyes went round at the sound of the gravelly voice, because he hadn't actually expected Barnes to answer him. He'd grown bored of getting no results for weeks, even though he'd promised Coulson he could do a much better job at helping Barnes recover than any of his psychologists who'd never set foot on a battlefield in their lives, let alone knew how to deal with a veteran of war outside of what their books had taught them. They'd gotten their chance the first time Barnes and Rogers had been brought in, and they hadn't been able to make Barnes utter more than a few words before The Accident.

But _whoop whoop for accidental success!_

"Anything," Sam assured him with a friendly smile.

"Can I ask... questions?"

"You mean, more than you already do? Sure."

Sam watched the man frown, and wondered if he was busy thinking up what to ask, or just displeased with his sarcasm.

"Where are we?"

Brief, succinct questions were apparently Barnes' preferred means of communication. Sam wasn't surprised at the man's reluctance to openly speak his mind. He still had to be wary of his new found freedom of thoughts and speech. It'd all come back with time. For now, though, Sam had a very hard time grasping this man's personality, that still hadn't resurfaced after the years of brainwashing he'd endured.

"We're inside a SHIELD base. You don't need the exact location."

"SHIELD... Hydra?" Barnes was tentative when his mouth formed the last word, and Sam guessed it was pride that stopped him from taking a step back when Sam came even closer, turning this interrogation into what he hoped would feel like a more private, and honest conversation.

"No," Sam reassured him. "Only SHIELD this time around. We're the good guys, and we saved you. You're _safe_."

Barnes listened intently to him, before the announcement proved to be too overwhelming for the man and he had to crouch on the floor of his cell and start breathing faster than before. Sam immediately went down with him from the other side of the force field.

"It's OK, take your time digesting the news. By the way, do you need me to bring you something? I've got some... magazines," Sam looked over his shoulder at the stack of magazines lying on his desk, then back at the man. "If you ever get bored of assaulting my eardrums."

Barnes didn't exactly smile, but there was something in his dark blue eyes when he looked up again that seemed to  _soften_ at the offer, and Sam took it as a good sign.

He was silent for a moment, considering the magazines maybe, then spoke up again.

"Thank you," he said, with so much determination and  _feeling_ behind those two words it made Sam's heart ache a little bit.

"Hey, it's just magazines. But you're welcome. If you got any more questions for me, just hit me up; and if you need something, I'd be glad to bring it to you. You just gotta say the word!"

Sam felt almost  _giddy_ with accomplishment as he stood up in time with Barnes. He never felt better than when he was able to crack someone's shell open and help them out of their self-imposed imprisonment. He knew Coulson would watch the tape of this conversation later thanks to the cameras all over the room, and he couldn't wait to be allowed more liberty with the way he envisioned his sessions with Barnes. Somewhere without a force field between them would be a start. Not that Sam trusted the man not to kill him, but risks had to be taken if they wanted results. And Barnes needed to be shown he wasn't a prisoner anymore. He wasn't a thing kept at other people's disposal. Freedom would surely be _immensely_ beneficial to Barnes' recovery _._

"I'm Sam Wilson, by the way."

Barnes nodded in acknowledgement, and that was that. He'd probably exhausted himself talking more than he had in ages, so Sam decided they'd done enough progress for the day. With another smile, he turned around and was about to retreat to his boring desk, and even more boring stack of magazines when Barnes called his name.

"Sam?"

He turned back around and looked expectantly at Barnes, who'd taken a couple of steps back and was sitting down on the narrow bed, which was the only piece of furniture in his side of the room that he hadn't trashed during his numerous fits of anger. There were remnants of a nightstand, a chair and even a painting scattered all over the floor, and Sam had grown so used to that scenery he didn't even notice it anymore. SHIELD would replace every broken piece of furniture while Barnes was asleep, but it was almost a hopeless gesture of kindness when Barnes couldn't give a flying fuck about that sort of comfort. The force-field had to make it hard to believe the illusion anyway.

And once again, Sam didn't pay attention to the mess. He just waited, always ready and willing to help.

"Can I have your gun, please?"

As quickly as it had appeared, Sam's smile fell, a suffocating sense of despair quickly saturating his system.

"Why do you need my gun?" Sam asked, even though he knew. 

He _knew_ , because he'd been in this same situation countless times in the past, and no matter how many times he saw someone give up, it still tore at him from the inside.

And here he'd been thinking he was making progress! As if it could ever be so easy, undoing all the horrible treatments Hydra had perpetrated on Barnes, or _made him_ perpetrate.

As if a handful of kind words would be enough to save him.

"Why?" Sam insisted softly.

"To make it  _stop_ ," Barnes choked out, slamming his fists against his tightly closed eyes.

* * *

 "Tony... I can't breathe."

"Sorry, sorry!"

Tony released him with a last pat on the back with his uninjured hand, and chuckled when Steve kept staring at him in disbelief.

They were in Steve's room, a sparsely decorated place he hadn't left in days, which kind of drove him insane. But Steve didn't dare ask for more, not sure he deserved to be trusted with any more freedom yet. They were all three currently sitting on a small couch that smelled strongly of fresh leather, probably delivered straight from the factory where it'd been made, still in pristine condition.

Steve had still to get used to the way Tony had aged in his absence. He didn't exactly look old, but he  _felt_ older. Steve decided it was probably the hair.

"I know, I know, I grew a couple of grey hairs since the last time we saw each other's mugs. But the tabloids say I'm a 'sexy silver fox' now, which, hey, doesn't sound _that_ bad! Pepper's loving the change, too, lemme tell you, that girl goes  _wild_ for her sexy silver— _ouch!"_

Steve and Pepper watched Tony make a show of rubbing his (uninjured) left shoulder, Steve fighting off his laughter. They'd gotten married not long ago, and although Steve felt bad for not witnessing their union, he was glad they'd kept on living their lives even after believing Steve was gone. Steve never wanted anyone he cared for to be miserable because of him, and he knew he'd caused a great deal of pain and misery to all his friends when he'd disappeared to go after Bucky, and then let himself get captured so stupidly by Hydra.

He was happy for them, and even happier that he was now here to congratulate them.

"Now tell us how you are dealing, Steve" Pepper said next in a concerned tone, ignoring her sulking husband. "It's been so long since the last time I saw you, and SHIELD isn't allowing us any means of communication with you other than visits to this 'very secret base'. Which is complete BS, if you ask me."

"Did you just call  _national security_  bullshit?" Tony blinked innocently at Pepper. "My wife, I am  _appalled!"_ _  
_

"Don't make me hit you again, Tony."

Steve watched the exchange with a fond smile, clearing his throat just to pretend he was the most adult one of the trio, although he was now more than ever the youngest-looking.

"No fighting," he joked.

"She started it," Tony whined like a scolded child, and it made Steve incredibly warm inside to see that Tony was still the same insufferable, cocky brat he'd always been.

It felt so good to be back to something resembling normalcy. These people, the Avengers and all their families had become his new home, and something in Steve  _eased out_ when he got the reassurance that not much had changed this time around, and that there was still something left of this home for him to come back to. _  
_

"Steve," Pepper prompted again, and it took Steve a moment to remember what she'd asked him in the first place.

"Oh, uh... I'm good. I just... I wanted to say sorry. For the arm, I mean. I don't remember what happened but I know this is my fault, and... yeah, just wanted to get that out of the way."

The moment Tony had come in, Steve's eyes had zeroed in on Tony's right forearm that was entirely encased in a cast, and hanging inside a sling to keep his arm from moving too much. Seeing actual, tangible consequences of his actions as the Winter Soldier had made Steve's heart rise all the way up to his throat, because he hadn't hurt just anyone. He hadn't been striking enemies. He'd tried to kill his  _friend_. _  
_

And didn't that sound _oh so_ familiar.

"Don't sweat it, pal, I know."

Steve directed a sad smile at his friend, and Tony rolled his eyes before leaning in and engulfing the supersoldier in another one-handed hug.

"Stop with the sad puppy eyes! We're gonna find what's been making you snap back and we'll find a cure for it. And then me and Barnes can finally be properly introduced, waddya say?"

Steve drew back and stared at his friend, feeling a bit shocked by Tony's suggestion.

"You want to meet Bucky?" He croaked, voice wavering with uncertainty.

"Of course I do, he was... well,  _is_ your best friend, right? Gotta meet the guy if I wanna get all the good stories about 'skinny you'!"

"But... you know that... _the Winter Soldier_ ," Steve very helpfully stammered, before closing his mouth when he met Pepper's look.

"We know," she said, sneaking a hand around Tony's waist and laying her head on his good shoulder. "And Tony's had all the time to adjust to the news."

"I don't blame Barnes, Cap. Well, me from five years ago would maybe have tried to get his Iron hands around your boy's throat and see how long he can hold his breath..."

Steve shuddered noticeably at the mental picture, and Tony's mouth curled into a smirk.

"...but then you went MIA, and I spent the whole time praying to every god I knew that you were alive and well, even though I knew how irrational I were, that you were most probably dead already... But I wasn't thinking rationally, and kept praying and promising that... well, I made all kinds of crazy promises... mostly that I'd be ready to forgive Barnes for killing my father, if it would mean you were back with us."

Tony swallowed loudly, and went silent for a moment. Then he met Steve's eyes again and went on, a look of absolute determination and honesty hardening the lines of his face.

"And after a while, I found myself _actually_ forgiving him, it wasn't empty promises anymore. I read his files, those we salvaged from the old SHIELD-slash-Hydra, when I still thought both organizations were gone forever and didn't think anyone would mind me nosing around. Anyway, I know he was as much responsible for all the crimes they made him commit as you are of breaking my arm. I also happen to have seen the guy's state after we brought him in, and... he's not doing well. He clearly regrets, and I can't hold it against him. Not when he looks like a sad kitten who's been living in a trashcan for the last seventy years."

Steve was torn between snorting and crying, and he settled on something in between. Tony and Pepper seemed to understand, and when he stood up they immediately followed suit, all three going for a much needed group hug.

"Coulson said I'll be able to see him again, soon. You'll be there?" Steve mumbled against the fabric of Tony's shirt.

Tony laughed.

"Hell, no. I'll watch the rerun."

Steve felt Tony's cast poking him awkwardly in the stomach, and sighed.

"Fair enough."

* * *

The next couple of days Steve got visits from all the Avengers, and it helped getting his mind off all the depressing thoughts clouding his mind when he was left too long alone.

When he asked after Sam, he was told the man was currently busy elsewhere but was still sending Steve all his get-well wishes. Sensing something 'classified' was in play there, Steve had shrugged and focused again on whatever story Clint had visibly been having a great time telling.

Then three days later (or was it four? Steve was seriously starting to lose track of time), Sam finally came to see him, looking tired and very much defeated. He didn't bring good news either, very gently breaking down to Steve that he'd been monitoring Bucky all this time, and how his friend had been refusing to communicate with any of the agents and therapists they'd been sending him, except for one rather catastrophic time Sam reported to him with as little details he could.

However, he didn't leave out Bucky's suicidal tendencies, and Steve's already broken heart... broke a little more.

After that visit, Steve started pestering Coulson more than ever about seeing Bucky. He needed to see by himself how his friend was doing, something telling him in the pit of his stomach that the more time he waited, the closer he was getting to losing Bucky forever.

Steve needed Bucky — but right now he was convinced Bucky needed Steve even  _more._

* * *

  _(a week later)_

Sam and Steve entered a room made up of reinforced, black walls, and the door was barely shut that Steve's eyes immediately darted to the man sitting at the other side of a metallic table, facing the door.

Bucky's head slowly rose up, curtain of dark wavy hair parting to reveal furrowed brows, dark blue eyes and a grimace distorting his mouth.

"Steve," Bucky uttered that single name and still managed to make it sound like a reproach.

But Steve didn't care. His heart was racing, his palms were sweating, his eyes were burning and all he wanted was to push that table out of the way and wrap himself all around his friend's body. He just looked so small and miserable like this, dressed in some kind of soft gray onesie like some prisoner (or a baby), the left sleeve cut off probably so that the fabric didn't catch between the metal plates.

"Bucky," Steve outright  _whimpered_ , immediately walking closer.

* * *

"Bucky."

Sam watched the exchange between the two men from a corner of the room, purposefully trying to impose his presence as little as he could. He needed to stay back anyway, knowing things could go south very fast. He had been the only volunteer to come in with Steve and get a closer look at what could have triggered them. Actually, he'd had to convince Coulson to let him in, who'd first outright refused that anyone go in except for Rogers. But Sam knew how to be a convincing SOB.

Now, although still very worried about them (and OK, mostly about his own safety, too), he couldn't help the little smile tugging at one corner of his lips. 

_Jesus, I can practically see the little hearts in Steve's eyes._

Sam wasn't sure what Bucky represented to Steve, aside from being once his closest friend, but if he had to guess... and judging by what he was seeing, he couldn't deny he was starting to suspect some things. But then maybe his gaydar was just messing with him again. It did that an awful lot.

Sam's blood suddenly froze when Steve stopped in his tracks, somewhere between the door and the table standing in the middle of the room. Looking at Bucky, Sam noticed the same kind of unnatural stillness.

"What the...?"

_"HEIL HYDRA!"_

Steve and Bucky's shouts rang like gunshots in the room, startling Sam out of his goddamn mind.

"Oh, shit," Sam muttered under his breath before running for the door without a single look back.

* * *

In the surveillance room, director Coulson, Romanoff and Barton watched Sam jump out of the room like he had a horde of demons at his heels. Which wasn't too far from the truth, because a handful of seconds later they saw Steve and Bucky throw themselves at the locked door over, and over and over like enraged dogs, screams and groans and all kinds of invective filling the surveillance room.

"What the _fuck_ happened in there?!"

Clint pointed at the screen showing the two men still trying to claw their way out of the room, and even collected Natasha looked rather shaken by what she was witnessing.

Coulson looked at his agitated agents with a thoughtful frown, then pushed a button down on the large panel in front of him.

"Sedate them," he ordered, then closed the communication again.

From the numerous screens surrounding them, they saw Steve and Bucky start to wobble on their feet, and then eventually fall unconscious on the floor.

"The same thing as the last time we let them close to one another. Something triggered them, and the Winter Soldier programming... resurfaced, I guess."

"You guess? Is this all we have?" Natasha asked, arms crossed. "Guesses?"

"Everyone's doing their best to figure this mess out, agent Romanoff."

"I'm not an agent of SHIELD anymore, Phil."

Natasha's smile wasn't cold, but it wasn't friendly either. Coulson simply rolled his eyes.

"Old habits."

Behind him, masked agents were entering the room where the supersoldiers were lying unconscious, carefully untangling the two men and putting each of them on a different stretcher.

"Where are they going, now?" Clint hadn't torn his gaze from the screens even once, following all the steps very carefully.

"Banner will run some check ups, and then they're back to square one. Recovery room. Force-field. Until they've resurfaced again."

"I heard it took weeks, the last time."

"It did. Now let's see how much it takes  _this_ time."

Natasha huffed, and the sound made Clint finally tear his eyes away from the screens and look at her in shock. Natasha never...  _huffed_. When she was annoyed, the moment you knew was when you felt her knee connect with your crotch. She didn't sigh or huff or do any of those things normal people did. It was the result of being taught from a young age to never give away a single hint of her inner feelings.

If Natasha was losing her composure, this had to mean  _something very important_ to her. And Clint knew how she felt, because he felt the same way. Watching Steve behave this way was terrifying, and it also made him want to break stuff. Preferably Hydra agents skulls.

"Does this serve any specific purpose?" Natasha asked, visibly displeased. "Because if we're just going to force them into each other's proximity everytime they've barely recovered, we're not doing anything better than what Hydra's put them trough. This has to stop, Coulson."

"Good luck convincing Steve of giving up, much less giving up  _Bucky,"_ the director of SHIELD shot right back, sounding almost but not quite smug.

Natasha cocked one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"And yes, this experiment has a purpose, and it's finding what causes their relapse into their Hydra programming."

"That's not the way we're going to find anything, and you know it. This is nothing scientific, it's  _dangerous!"_

"This is why," Coulson temporized with a polite smile, "we're now going to proceed scientifically. Banner suggested a plan that will take time, but might work out if done correctly."

"You're going to do this again, aren't you," Clint chimed in, not absolutely averse to the idea but not liking it much either.

"Yep. I've got no other choice," Coulson opened his arms wide. "It's either finding out the trigger and then  _maybe_ finding out a way to undo the reprogramming... or keeping Rogers and Barnes apart for the rest of their lives."

Both Natasha and Clint grimaced at the prospective. 

Knowing that there was nothing else to add to the argument, Natasha sighed in defeat before quickly leaving the room. Clint nodded in Coulson's direction before trailing after Natasha with renewed concern. She was  _sighing_ now, too?

* * *

The next time Steve's allowed to see Bucky, they're not even in the same room. There is a barrier made entirely of glass standing between them, effectively separating the room in two hermetical halves.

It wasn't to Steve's liking, but he'd promised to follow Bruce's instructions to the t, so that the experiment didn't turn out like last time, when he and Bucky almost teared Sam's head off... or so they'd been told. And shown.

Glancing cautiously at the man who'd barely walked in on the other side of the glass, Steve felt something uncoil inside of him at the sight of his friend. Bucky sure looked to be in better shape than the last time. His cheeks had lost their alarming hollowness (proof that Hydra had kept him malnourished for decades), and his hair appeared to have grown in volume. It was no longer dirty or messy. It was...

_Fluffy._

However, the rest was pretty much the same. Bucky still held himself like a caged animal ready to escape at the first chance. And his dark blue eyes still glared menacingly in Steve's general direction, as if daring him to try anything funky, left hand curling and uncurling into a fist at his side.

Steve took a deep breath, remembering Bruce's instructions. He had to come as close as possible, and assess if anything in Bucky's  _appearance_ only triggered something suspicious. For the purpose of the experiment, none could hear the other from the other side of the soundproofed glass, Bruce stressing the importance of doing this methodically — which consisted in isolating every single possible trigger  _one_ at a time.

Yet Steve had so many things he wished he could tell Bucky. A handful of questions, but mostly apologies that weighed like lead on his conscience. And now that he was standing in front of him, with Bucky only a  _few feet away_ , it was truly frustrating not to try and yell something at him, just to see if the sound would reach him somehow. If maybe he could read his lips, and understand that Steve was  _truly_ sorry, and that he was ready to spend the rest of his life trying to make amends for failing Bucky not only once, but  _twice_.

Once upon a time he'd let his best friend fall without even  _trying_ anything, and he used to think that was his greatest regret. But then he had gotten himself captured, and... and probably made Bucky's life even  _more_  of a living hell than it had already been.

Bucky had to remember what had happened between them. He  _had_ to remember that, since every intimate moment with him was  _branded_ on the back of Steve's eyelids, never letting him forget, especially alone at night. Steve couldn't remember the exact emotions he'd felt when he was with Bucky; they were too blurry, too fragmented to tell; like a glimpse into another man's dream. But recalling all the details now that it was over, Steve couldn't possibly blame it on Hydra. He might not have been allowed to feel much, but what little he had experienced in Bucky's arms had felt... more real than anything else he'd ever felt before. It had felt  _right_. The programming had acted like a disinhibitor in more ways than one, making Steve forget his moral compass, but also every single excuse he'd been hiding behind ever since he'd felt the first tendrils of affection for Bucky Barnes, the scrappy kid he'd met on the playground. It had been like a veil lifted from his eyes, finally letting him see Bucky with  _all his heart_.

And Steve had taken all of Bucky. He hadn't cared if he was offering or not. _Couldn't_ have, given the circumstances. But maybe, if there weren't any hidden feelings to begin with, maybe _it_ would have never happened. And that  _maybe_ , coupled with the way Bucky was glaring at him were enough to convince Steve it had been all his fault alone. Bucky hadn't wanted that; but because Steve was wired wrong, and because of the brainwashing, he had been unable to refuse.

The guilt was eating away at Steve, and if Bruce didn't allow him to have a real conversation with Bucky in the foreseeable future, he was going to lose his mind.

Another deep breath, and Steve finally walked up to the middle of the room. He put his palm flat against the glass and watched Bucky, nervous energy coursing through his body and feeling like a thousand tiny fireworks were going off underneath his skin.

He felt anxious, eyes slowly assessing Bucky's appearance, afraid of finding the trigger and losing himself again. But when nothing happened, Steve let his eyes settle on Bucky's feet. He was still dressed in the same gray uniform, with white nondescript shoes attached with a Velcro fastener. The sight brought back to mind what Sam has reported about Bucky's wish to put an end to his own life. The idea that they'd given him these shoes because he couldn't be trusted with laces spoke volume about Bucky's stubbornness once he'd set his mind on a course of action.

Feeling utterly useless and beyond terrified, Steve's body slumped on itself, hand still barely sticking to the glass, hot tears spilling freely. His vision swam, losing focus of Bucky's feet, and when he blinked back a moment later he noticed that the other had moved. Looking up, he saw Bucky right in front of him, right palm flat against the glass, a couple of inches under Steve's unsteady one. Blinking in shock at finally getting a close look on his friend after so long, Steve's heart nearly shattered when Bucky unexpectedly drew his palm back before banging it, hard, against the glass. Steve immediately took a step back, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed out, and Bucky yelled something from the other side, but Steve couldn't understand what it was.

Bucky's face had turned bright red with anger, and Steve didn't know what to do anymore. He was not afraid; he was simply heartbroken that the mere sight of him could put Bucky in such a state. How he had to  _hate_ Steve, now. He wasn't sure anymore that he could ever mend what Hydra had so thoroughly broken between them.

_"Steve, I think that's enough for now."_

Bruce's voice echoed in the otherwise silent room, and Steve didn't wait any further. He turned around, wiping at the tears streaming down his face and soaking the collar of his shirt, and walked out without a single glance back. The last thing he heard was another  _bang_ against the glass barrier.

* * *

 

Steve had asked, just to be sure, that Bucky hadn't been triggered back there even though Steve had felt nothing similar. Bucky had been in such a rage, after all, and without any visible reason. But Bruce had assured him that Bucky's behavior was perfectly normal and he was still in command up there. It was absolutely disheartening to hear, even though Steve hid it well.

That outburst could only mean he _did_ resent Steve for what had happened.

After that realization, Steve tried to ask as little as he could about Bucky. He only inquired once a day about his health and the way he was interacting with others, but never again did he insist on meeting Bucky again. He knew they still had to make other tests, but he hoped that if he didn't rush anyone, they'd feel free to take their time.

Steve was terrified at finding himself the recipient of Bucky's hatred again. It wasn't something he had _ever_ experienced, not coming from the one person who'd always been there for him, and who he'd always,  _always_ loved unconditionally. He needed time to recover from this revelation.

* * *

The small phone Natasha hurriedly slipped into Steve's hand during her last visit before quickly exiting his secured room left Steve with a lot of unanswered questions.

Holding the phone close to his face that night in bed, Steve wondered why Natasha would want a more private way to communicate with him. What was her plan? Did something bad happen? Who else knew about this? Those were some of the questions that wouldn't let Steve's mind alone. There was no number in the contacts list, and Steve knew no one he could call. There wasn't anyone he wanted to call anyway.

Well, that was a lie. Although the mere thought terrified him, he wanted to call Bucky. Just to make sure... of what, he didn't know. He just needed some kind of connection with Bucky, whatever form it might take. He was  _that_ desperate.

The phone screen turned a bright blue without a warning, and Steve almost dropped it on his face. Fumbling with the small apparel, he quickly unlocked the screen and saw he had a new text message from a hidden number.

 _What's the meaning of this, Natasha_ , he thought as he tapped the phone screen to open the message.

There was only a phone number inside, with the concise instruction:  _"no calls, too dangerous"_.

Heart beating fast, Steve saved the number in his phone, then opened a new message.

**_Nat?_ **

He hit sent, then waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

**_— she planned all this, didn't she_ **

Steve's breath caught in his throat when he read the lone line on the screen. This wasn't Natasha! And if that wasn't her, it could only mean...

**_Bucky, is that_ _you?_ **

**_— This is too dangerous_ **

Steve almost let out a giddy laugh when Bucky — because he knew it was him, now — fired back an almost instantaneous reply. He owed Natasha his eternal gratitude.

**_Bucky, please, talk to_ _me_ **

He sent it before he could feel ashamed of his needy request.

— **_w_ _hat if we trigger each other again? Natasha shouldn't have done this_**

**_i just wanna know you're ok_ **

This time, Bucky's reply took longer. Steve waited with the blood pounding loud in his ears.

— ** _i'_ _m not ok, Steve! how do you think i feel knowing i've been a killer robbed of all consent for the last century? and finding out that you were there with me?_**

**_only the last five years_ **

Steve winced at his own tactless defense, but it was frustratingly  _difficult_ to convey all that he meant through a simple text.

Bucky's answer was a barrage of texts:

**_— do you even fucking think about what you just said?!_ **

**_— you went after me, didn't you?_ **

**_— it's cos of ME that you got captured and tortured and brainwashed and used as hydra's pet_ **

**_— so no_ **

**_— i'm not ok and this won't help_ **

Steve couldn't stop his hands from shaking at Bucky's outburst, and he had to give up on typing until he had calmed back down. But when he tried to reach Bucky again, his texts got no answer. He went to sleep with a heavy heart, and the phone clutched against his chest.

* * *

 

Steve spent a whole week texting Bucky at least trice a day, keeping the smuggled phone hidden from the cameras keeping track of him inside his room.

He never got a reply, not since that night.

He suspected Bucky  _had_ to be reading his texts, so eventually he opened one last message and typed: **_i'm sorry Bucky. i'm so sorry about everything hydra did, and what I did to you. but i hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me some day, because i miss my friend very much._**

Steve read and reread the message before hitting send, then turned off the phone and thrust it into Natasha's hand, who'd been waiting for him with a concerned expression.

"It's pointless," he explained with a deep sigh before turning his back on her and staring at the opposite wall.

"I'm sorry," Natasha quietly muttered before leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Steve was ashamed at the turn his treacherous thoughts took afterwards, bringing him back to those times he was held down by Bucky, forced to look up at the masked men above him and groaning in complete abandon and pleasure... while they were probably watched and monitored by dozens of Hydra agents.

* * *

 

**_**_— w_** hat do you mean by 'i did to you'?_ **

**_**_— STEVE WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU MEAN_ ** _ **

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The next test took place approximately a month afterwards, but it felt more like an eternity.

Bucky was scratching compulsively at the scars on his left pectoral through the fabric of his shirt, the metal arm feeling more like a ridiculously annoying hindrance these days. Maybe because he could finally think of his own, and had to stay conscious for more than just a couple of days before being put back to sleep. Now he was constantly aware, but it didn't feel as good as he'd hoped.

He scratched a little more along the ridge of the metal plate that was directly connected to his chest, feeling with the pads of his fingers the rest of the structure that ran under his skin and connected the device to his skeleton. Bucky had thought about asking to get it removed, but then when director Coulson had surprised him by taking the initiative of proposing it first, it had scared Bucky shitless. He wasn't afraid to admit it to himself. He didn't know who he was without the deadly appendage, and frankly, it was still a very useful perk. Even if they took all his knives and firearms, Bucky still had that one weapon, and it was a safety he couldn't bring himself to give up just yet.

So the arm was staying.

_Scratch, scratch._

But _damn_ was it fucking itchy, sometimes!

Sitting on the same table he'd been brought to during SHIELD's interrogations, Bucky looked around himself curiously, wondering how this new test would go. He was anxious to see Steve again, and had a  _lot_ he wanted to talk about. Mainly, that last text message he'd received before Steve went completely silent. Natasha had informed him later that Steve had gotten rid of the phone, so there was no use for Bucky's anymore.

Bucky had considered crushing the phone inside his metal fist and handing the remnant to Natasha, but then he'd thought better of it and just given her the phone without a word.

Steve had always been very _theatrical_ , that much Bucky still remembered. If he wanted to know what the hell was going on inside his stubborn little head, he had to wait until Steve decided it was time for the 'grand reveal'. If he pushed, nothing would come out of it. Steve would close like a seashell.

Bucky's fingers slid down his pectoral and scratched at his metal arm without noticing the incongruity of what he was doing.

* * *

Director Coulson and that big blond (Thor?) who always spoke like he came straight from the Middle Ages were sitting opposite Bucky. Standing close to the door were Sam Wilson to whom Bucky nodded in polite acknowledgement, and another shorter man with thick arms and a severe expression who never tore his gaze from Bucky ever since they'd all walked into the room.

Coulson was holding a small round device with a flat side that he put in the middle of the table before pressing a button. It looked like a miniature loudspeaker.

"Dr Banner, is everything ready on your side."

Bucky's ears perked up like a dog's, and he stood a little straighter in his chair when a voice rose from the small speaker.

_"We're all set, Director."_

"Alright, Mr Barnes," Coulson carried on, pining Bucky onto his chair with his piercing eyes. "Steve is currently sitting in a room similar to this one, right down the hall. We're going to see how you both react when exposed only to the sound of each other's voices. We are fairly positive this might be the trigger, so I've brought with me enough muscle to neutralize you once the Winter Soldier has taken over, so don't be afraid of hurting anyone. Just speak up."

Coulson nodded, looking at Bucky expectantly. 

Bucky cleared his throat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear as he leaned down to get closer to the speaker.

He sent one last careful look at every single one of the men inside the room, annoyance flaring up for a brief moment that he wasn't allowed any privacy with this.

"Steve?"

Bucky held his breath, the sound of his heartbeat deafening as he waited for an answer. As he waited to simply hear Steve's voice again.

"I know you can hear me, so you better say something."

 _"Steve?"_ Dr Banner's soft inquiry came through, and Bucky pictured them exchanging a look, Steve probably shaking his head 'no' and the subsequent sound of a chair scrapping against the floor made it sound like one of them was maybe ready to leave.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

All sound died from the other side, and Bucky's blood reached boiling point so fast it made him dizzy.

"SO NOW THAT _I'M_ THE ONEWILLING TO TALK, IT WON'T DO? FUCK YOU, ROGERS!"

Bucky noticed Sam Wilson and his pal draw their guns out and point them in his direction in the blink of an eye, but he couldn't care less at that moment. Thor and Director Coulson were merely staring at him intently, but none was making a move to try and calm him down. Bucky didn't feel like he had lost control of his own body, not like the other times, so he knew he had to be still himself. This wasn't the other guy. This wasn't the Winter Soldier breaching the surface underneath which he was probably constantly lurking, waiting for the signal to emerge. This was Bucky, this was his frustration and he would be damned if he didn't use this opportunity to give Steve a piece of his mind.

"IF YOU CARE SO LITTLE ABOUT ME THAT YOU WON'T EVEN TALK, THEN WHY THE  _FUCK_  DID YOU GO AFTER ME, YOU STUPID PUNK?! WHAT GOOD DID IT DO? FUCKING MISPLACED PRIDE! FUCKING SELF-SACRIFICING BASTARD!"

He waited, arms raised high in obfuscation, but there was still no answer.

"WHEN THE _FUCK_ ARE YOU GONNA LEARN THAT YOU CAN'T SAVE EVERYONE, _CAPTAIN?_ YOU WENT WITH NO DAMN BACKUP, YOU LET YOURSELF GET TAKEN AND NOT EVEN ONCE DID YOU THINK OF ALL THE PEOPLE COUNTING ON YOU! YOU  _WASTED_ IT ALL FOR NOTHING!" _  
_

There was a strange sound that gave Bucky pause again, and he took the opportunity to gulp a huge breath, chest heaving and face burning up. This wasn't doing him any good. He couldn't see Steve's reactions, and if he was even reacting in any way at all. He had no way of knowing what to say since he was getting no feedback. All he'd do was yell himself hoarse, and he'd eventually get meaner and meaner and say things he probably didn't believe.

He was about to tell the Director of SHIELD to shove his stupid test up his ass because he was getting out of here, when the strange sound finally became loud enough for him to recognize it for what it was.

Steve was crying on the other side of the line.

It was like Bucky was instantly back inside the cryo-chamber, body slowly freezing from the tip of his toes up, up and up till the cold was piercing his very heart.

_No, I didn't... mean to..._

_"I know it's hard but you need to say something too, Steve. If you don't, the experiment is pointless."_

The crying subsided, before finally, Steve's shaky voice rose from the speaker:

_"Please... Bucky, don't hate me."_

And Bucky exploded all over again, but he made the mistake of standing up in his outrage, ready to send the table crashing against the nearest wall, and before he knew what was happening he had three pairs of arms wrapped around him and he was manhandled face-first on the floor.

He was still screaming at Steve the whole time.

* * *

The only positive outcome of the test was that apparently, the trigger wasn't the sound of their voices.

The team of SHIELD scientists and psychologists working on their case had already worked out that it couldn't be a word either, since the last they'd triggered each other they'd barely had the time to say anything. It had to be something else, but Bucky had no idea what that 'something' could be.

Lying in his borrowed bed, Bucky felt utterly powerless, and abandoned. The way Steve was behaving, even though they managed to cure them Bucky doubted Steve would want to be in the same room as him ever again. There had been no warning, and no explanation whatsoever as to why Steve seemed so  _afraid_ of him. Bucky didn't think it was the arm, or the fact that Bucky had killed... so many. It was something else, maybe something he'd told Steve that he hadn't thought through, hadn't anticipated that it'd have such a negative impact on his friend, but he couldn't remember what it might have been. Had it happened in their past? The change had seemed to happen after their disastrous conversation through text messages. But what was it about needing Bucky's forgiveness? For _what?_ Did Steve remember more than Bucky about what Hydra made them do? In any case, it sure felt like he wasn't telling everything that was on his mind, especially after the desperate last text he'd sent Bucky.

_i'm sorry Bucky. i'm so sorry about everything hydra did, and what I did to you. but i hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me some day, because i miss my friend very much._

_Please... Bucky, don't hate me._

"For God's sake, Steve... what am I suppose to forgive..."

Bucky threw his left arm over his face, hiding underneath the cool and heavy metal. He was racking his brain, trying to remember something...  _anything_. But nothing would come. There was the coppery taste of blood on his tongue, the sound of gunshots... screams, and succinct orders he had to obey... a dimly lit laboratory, scientists telling him to relax as they injected him with various drugs... strong arms pulling him into a tight embrace, making him feel warm for the first time in  _decades_...

Bucky threw his arm away, eyes opening wide in shock.

_What the fuck?_

But there was no stopping the rush of memories now that he'd finally found a trail to latch onto. He was going back in time, and everything they've done to each other was coming back to him in a rush of sensations, of sounds, of pleas whispered in the dark. Of shallow intimacy, because there were no feelings attached to it. Bucky had sought Steve on instinct, never making an actual  _rational_ decision to do so.

He'd behaved like an animal.

Bucky's heart was pounding in his side, and he was having difficulty breathing. Standing up, he beat his chest a couple of times, trying to force the air inside his burning lungs. Tears were welling up in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he knew he was about to pass out from the shock and shame and the pain his memories had brought so suddenly.

His last coherent thought before he lost it was how Steve wasn't hating  _him?  
_

* * *

"They made us wear masks."

 Sam and Bruce Banner, the scientist Bucky had requested, exchanged a confused look. Well, to be fair, Sam looked the most confused. Banner appeared to be mulling that information over.

"Do you remember what they were for? To keep your anonymity, maybe?" Banner questioned, leaning casually with his open palm on the force field separating Bucky from the two other men.

He rubbed at his chin, then pushed his glasses higher up his nose as he studied Bucky, who was sitting at the edge of his bed and trying to appeae as harmless as he could.

"I don't remember an instance when we wouldn't be wearing them, doc. I think we had them all the time."

Banner didn't comment on the _'doc'_ , but instead gestured for Bucky to go on with a tired sigh.

 "What did they look like, can you give me all the details you remember?"

Bucky nodded.

"They were made of, uh... black kevlar, which made them very heavy. They were... they were black, and only covered the face from nose to chin."

"You mean, the mask the Winter Soldier was wearing?" Sam piped up.

Bucky felt an odd rush of gratefulness for the man for phrasing it that way. For making it sound like Bucky and the Winter Soldier were two different individuals.

Dr Banner frowned.

"You wore _that_... all the time?" He asked, as if to make sure he'd gotten it right. "Both of you?"

Bucky nodded again.

"Do you think..." He trailed off, too afraid of being actually right.

Banner swept a hand over his mouth, then glanced at Sam again.

"I think we need to run another test before we draw any conclusions."

* * *

 The trigger turned out to be, as Bucky had been starting to suspect, their scent.

As Bucky held the struggling man on the floor with both arms and legs, breath loud to his ears due to the prototypical mask covering the lower part of his face, he knew this revelation was going to bring them all the more troubles, and no solutions at all.

They'd discovered the trigger after giving Bucky a mask similar to the one they wore with Hydra, and putting him in a room with Steve, who on the other hand has just been standing there with nothing to protect his nose from the sudden assault of Bucky's scent. 

As Banner was currently explaining very loudly (to cover Steve's crazed screams), it was that undetectable smell that every body exuded, and that was always covered under layers of artificial fragrances. But with their enhanced senses, Steve and Bucky had no trouble detecting each other's scent the moment they entered a room, and Bucky had only had time to take two steps before Steve was on him, throwing punches and getting ready to exterminate every member of the Avengers standing in his way.

Bucky had needed Thor's help to wrestle Steve to the ground, and now he was holding onto him like a monkey, wrapped around the taller man to make him as still as he could so that Banner could inject him with a strong enough sedative.

Steve finally calmed down, the fight bleeding out of him in successive waves until he lay limply in Bucky's hold. 

Bucky still refused to let go for a long while, not noticing that he was rocking right and left as if he was soothing a small child.

"Any chances it might be something... else?" Coulson inquired softly as the Avengers (minus Tony) all stared at the two supersoldiers on the floor.

Banner took off his rubber gloves and threw them in a nearby trashcan, along with the syringe he'd used to sedate Steve.

"I'm afraid not."

The director of SHIELD sighed dejectedly. 

"This means they can never be in each other's presence, ever again." He decided, to the utter surprise of both Natasha and Clint, who'd been standing back near the exit. "It's simply too dangerous."

The pained sound that escaped Bucky Barnes' mouth was similar to the howl of a wolf mourning its mate.


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks and a half.

It'd been  _fucking three weeks and a fucking half_ since he'd seen Steve.

"Bucky, you still here?"

Bucky peered back down at the tablet laying on the counter top and at Steve's confused little smile.

"Yeah, I just... spaced out, I'm sorry. What were you saying about Natasha? She tried to set you up with some SHIELD agent?"

Steve rolled his eyes, probably because he'd moved on from that subject a long time ago but Bucky hadn't paid enough attention to remember. They'd been having these... _videochats_ , ever since they found out the trigger for the Winter Soldier program was each other's personal scent. And alright, maybe Bucky got to see Steve every day and talk to him and get all the time to catch up with his friend and have drawn out heart-to-heart conversations with the blond... but it still felt like not nearly enough. _  
_

Bucky didn't think he was being too greedy for wishing he could hug his best friend once again;  _just once_. Staring at each other's faces could never replace standing together in the same kitchen, cooking and joking and rough housing like they used to. 

And maybe... kissing? 

Bucky closed his eyes, the sudden rush of longing so  _strong_ it made his chest hurt.

This would never happen, and Bucky was all too aware of that situation. Their situation. The situation Hydra had put them in without their consent. 

They hadn't exactly spoken about what they remembered from their time in captivity, but Bucky already knew that Steve remembered, and it'd in fact taken a while before Steve finally agreed to 'face' him, and talk to him like everything between them was still good and their friendship wasn't forever fucked.

But it  _was_.

Even now, Bucky couldn't stop thinking about holding Steve, and breathing his warm scent in until he was filled with it. He couldn't stop thinking about dragging Steve onto the counter top of his damn  _kitchen_ , helping him lay down and then climbing him and riding him like a race horse. They'd make a mess of Bucky's regular sized kitchen; they'd be loud and rough and destroy most of it but it'd be so  _worth it_ , and Bucky would get to hear the words.

He'd hear the words he longed to hear ever since his own memory had supplied those terrifyingly intimate moments they'd shared for the last five years, under the scrutiny of the enemy. Bucky didn't remember feeling this way before his fall, or even before the war. Steve had always been a fixture in his life, and he'd loved him with all he had. He'd loved him more than the occasional girls he went out with, he'd loved him more than going out to dance parties, he'd loved him more than the rare times when he got to get a real meal. He'd loved him more than the spring when Brooklyn didn't smell so bad and things didn't look so desperate.  _Fuck_ , he'd loved Steve more than he'd loved himself, his life, everything! _  
_

He'd just never considered...  _that_ kind of love. But now that he'd had a taste, it was truly no surprise to him that he ended up wanting more.

He wanted Steve to be his, completely. And he wanted more than anything for Steve to  _accept_ him. To _take_ him, and claim him and love him, too.

But the fact was that they had both been avoiding anything that had to do with their brainwashing; except for any side effects or of course, the trigger, and the guilt over all the innocents they'd hurt and killed in the name of Hydra. It'd done them a  _lot_ of good to talk about it, drawing comfort in one another, and in their shared experience that couldn't be found anywhere else.

Bucky was simply too afraid of bringing the subject up, and he guessed Steve might be too uncomfortable (slash, embarrassed and maybe slash,  _disgusted_ ) to mention it himself. So they danced around each other, and had been getting very good at that little game.

"Bucky, seriously?!"

Bucky cracked a smile when Steve snapped his fingers, and he opened his eyes slowly, accidentally subjecting his friend to what the ladies used to call his 'bedroom eyes'.

He saw Steve swallow, even  _heard_ the loud gulp, and couldn't help the way his heart started pounding with renewed hope.

"So, are you seeing someone?"

The question was out of his mouth before he could even think about it.

_Fuck! Oh, fuck!_

Bucky had to resist smacking his hand over his mouth like he'd made a huge mistake (which he had, but Steve couldn't know).

Steve was looking at something beyond the chat window, and when he replied he sounded casual and not at all like he minded the intrusive questioning.

"Of  _course_ not!" He scoffed distractedly.

Bucky frowned.

"Wait, why 'of course'? You make it sound like it's common knowledge or something."

Steve finally directed his attention back to Bucky, and he seemed to take a while before Bucky's words reached his brain. Then he did something Bucky hadn't really expected Steve was still capable of doing.

He stammered. And blushed.

"I... I, I mean... I... It's...  _well_... I don't.. I don't, I'm not seeing anyone, no," he finally let out in a rush, tips of his ears turning bright red.

Bucky wanted to tease him for it, but it was also too endearing, and he just couldn't do it. Instead, he very seriously locked gazes with Steve.

"You shouldn't stay alone, Stevie. It's not good for you... us."

For some reason, Steve whined softly, and dropped his head in his hands.

"I know, but I can't. And I won't. Start seeing anyone, ever. And before you start arguing," he was quick to add, looking up again and meeting Bucky's affronted gray-blues because he knew him too well and could already hear the reproaches before the guy had had the time to open his mouth, "it's nothing... bad. It's not because I don't love myself, or my body, or can't find the right person for me or anything like when I was smaller. It's... complicated."

When Bucky just stared at him, telegraphing by his behavior that he was  _not_ letting this subject drop so easily, Steve sighed and went on.

"I have feelings for someone."

_The fuck?_

Bucky's eyes were probably round at that revelation, mouth agape, but he didn't even care.

_Steve loves someone? Who?!_

He almost thought,  _who am I gonna have to murder_ , but he stopped himself before that thought could really plant itself in his brain.

A notification tone chimed, distracting him a little.

"Fuck, Sam's calling me for our daily session..."

"It's fine, it's alright, Bucky, you do that-"

"No, wait! You said..."

He swallowed his saliva, trying to fight back his trepidation.

"You said you had feelings for someone. Who is that?"

Steve sighed, breaking eye contact.

Bucky was pretty sure he himself had stopped breathing.

"You really have to ask?"

"What..."

"It's you, Buck," Steve croaks, voice so soft it's almost too quiet to catch. But then he clears his throat, and suddenly the words are flowing and it's like a  _dam_ has broken down.

"It was always you, but it took  _Hydra_ to make me realize. And now it's all fucked up beyond repair, and I don't know how to fix this! How to fix  _us!"_

"Steve, slow down a minute-"

"...And I know you'd never feel the same way for me and it's been  _tearing. My. Heart!_ I know Hydra made you do it, made you...  _fuck me_ ," he spat, the words so dirty in Steve's mouth, and not in a good way, "and I... I  _hate myself for still wanting you that way!"_

"STEVE!" Bucky shouted.

He saw Steve flinch, tears welling up in his downcast eyes.

"Steve!" He pleaded, but Steve shook his head instead, that same self-deprecating gesture he used to do all the time in the past, then he reached towards the screen and... he logged out.

Bucky stared at the black screen and the small light at the upper corner of his tablet, signaling him he had a missed call from Sam Wilson. He stood frozen, unable to fully process what had just happened.

He ignored Sam's call and tried calling Steve multiple times, but every try Steve refused to pick up.

Then it all finally clicked, it finally appeared clear as day that he'd shouted at Steve when he was at his most vulnerable, letting his frustration get the better of him again. And he realized it was the second time he'd pushed Steve away, and was left unable to reach him again.

_Ugh, I hate this future technology!_

* * *

Bucky believed that when technology couldn't do something for you, you had to do it yourself. 

So if he couldn't reach Steve, he was going to try every trick he knew to reach his slippery punk of a friend. _  
_

He couldn't make himself think too hard over the things Steve had revealed about his feelings for Bucky. It didn't seem real enough, not without Steve  _confirming them to his face_ , so Bucky forced himself to think of the plan and the plan  _alone_ , and with that mindset he walked straight into Tony's lab without knocking or acknowledging JARVIS' jovial welcome.

"Stark, I need that mask."

Howard's son didn't even look up from the chunk of metal he was studying.

"Can't give it to you, pal. It's in SHIELD's custody. Or their lab, somewhere. Or, you know, underneath Banner's pillow 'cus the guy's weird that way."

Bucky stomped his heavy boot _(oh God, what did I just...?)_ hard on the floor.

"I don't care, I need it!"

"Listen, pal, you were there when they briefed you, right? You know the good doctors said anything susceptible to remind you of the Winter Soldier has to be kept away. Too dangerous, and... whatnot. I'm sure Wilson's been discussing that with you, too. Can't treat you like an animal and muzzle you, now, can we?"

"Oh for  _God's sake_ , but  _I'm asking for it!"_

Stark shrugged, then hissed when he caught the fleshy part of his thumb in one of the metal grooves of the thing he was fiddling with.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh when it was clear that Stark would be of no help, and just for good measure he flipped the oblivious man the bird before walking back out of the man's office.

He did it with the metal one. Steve might have said it looked sassier that way.

* * *

Bucky had negotiated his way into his first battle alongside the Avengers, but he didn't give a damn about the two aliens attacking the city.

His sole contribution to the mission was waving both arms from the other side of the very large lane (and kicking aliens whenever the Hulk would throw them in his direction), trying to get Captain America to notice him. He even shouted at the man many times, trying to get the stubborn man's attention even if for a moment, but it was clear Steve was  _actively_ pretending Bucky didn't exist, and it only made Bucky even  _more_ pissed than he already was.

But he couldn't possibly get closer, for obvious reasons. He couldn't risk it, even for something as important as getting Steve to  _fucking talk_. 

"Barnes?" Natasha called once the aliens were defeated, and they were sharing a seat at the back of a Quinjet.

"What?"

"You're both morons."

Bucky was starting to enjoy flipping people a metallic bird rather than a flesh and bone one.

* * *

 

"STARK!" Bucky barked.

"WHAT?" Stark barked back, sounding just as annoyed.

"I NEED YOU TO MAKE ME TWO MASKS THAT'D FILTER MINE AND STEVE'S SCENT."

A pause.

Then.

"Wanna get laid  _that bad_ , huh?"

* * *

 

Stark's masks were done just in time for the Avengers' next mission.

Bucky had hoped he'd get to approach Steve in a more  _private_ setting, but now that he was given an opportunity, he wasn't going to be difficult about it. And he just couldn't wait for a better moment. He  _had_ to make Steve understand how he felt.

The sooner the better.

They were parachuted (well, those who couldn't fly) on top of the creature currently terrorizing New York, and without Thor's assistance (guy had gone back to his realm, or something) it took them most of the morning and well into the afternoon before it was finally over. For security measures, Bucky had been monitoring each and every single of Steve's moves, trying to maintain the minimal distance they had to keep between each other. It was frustrating, and somewhat surreal to watch Steve fight and not be able to just... run to his side and give him a hand, just like he used to...

Now it's over, the city is buzzing with the sounds of people regaining their homes and looking for their friends and families through the rubble. And also, all the  _reporters_ swarming the place soon as the threat has been neutralized. Bucky still couldn't believe how  _many goddamn reporters_ there were everytime.

He fingered the masks in the pocket inside his jacket, watching Steve give a quick summary of the situation to one of the reporters thrusting his microphone right under his nose. And soon as he'd given the camera one of his trademark smiles (the ones that feel a bit fake, but also full of assurance in what they were doing), Bucky pulled the masks out and quickly strapped one of them around his mouth and nose, the thing falling into place with a soft click. It was way more advanced than whatever Hydra was using.

Then he marched towards Steve, his pace determined and sure, and before Steve could notice him coming, before Bucky's scent could wove its way through the clouds of smoke and dust and reach Steve's enhanced nostrils, Bucky slapped the mask over Steve's face from behind, and fastened the thing in lightning fast movements.

"Wha- Wait, no!"

Steve turned around, hands already lifted to try and take the thing off, but Bucky downright  _growled_ and grabbed Steve's forearms just in time, marching them backwards until Steve's back hit a wall.

"Bucky, this is too dangerous!"

"I LOVE YOU, DAMN IT." Bucky shouted over Steve's protest, effectively silencing the taller man.

Steve blinked at him, clear blue eyes full of confusion, and shock.

* * *

 

"I LOVE YOU, _beep!_  IT." Bucky shouted on national television, and Coulson paused in his paperwork.

"What the..."

"I LOVED IT, TOO. EVERYTHING WE DID. I WANTED IT SO BAD, STEVE. SO  _beep!_ THE PROGRAMMING AND  _beep!_  HYDRA, NONE OF THEM MADE ME DO IT. I WANTED YOUR  _beep!_  IN MY ASS AND I'D HAVE KILLED EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THOSE  _beep!_  IF I KNEW THEY WERE THE REASONS WE NEVER EVEN  _beep!_  KISSED!"

"Oh, no. No no no no, no! -- _MARIA!"_

The Director of SHIELD rushed out of his office in a whirlwind of paper sheets. Meanwhile, on the flat screen hanging from the wall of his office, the slightly deferred broadcast that had the world watching in rapt fascination kept unfolding itself inexorably.

"I WANTED YOU TO  _beep!_  ME, I ENJOYED EVERY MOMENT WITH YOUR  _beep!_  INSIDE ME AND I'D DO IT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND  _beep!_ AGAIN IF I COULD!  _beep! beep! beep!_ "

"I love you too," Steve admitted softly, the words probably caught only thanks to the reporters' powerful sound recorders. " _B_ _eep!_  I love you so much, and I was so afraid... I was so afraid it had been all me... and you... and you'd just..."

" _beep!_  Steve..."

"Bucky, please kiss me?"

"Can't... not yet..." 

At those words, Captain America whimpered behind his strange mask.

"Oh, for  _beep!_ sake!"

Seeming to finally notice the reporters, Bucky turned around and shoved his metal fist straight into the camera, and the picture was lost.

When the anchorwoman from the studios came back onscreen, she was clearly flushed, her eyes a tad red-rimmed and her make-up smeared. She looked at her audience, and the audience looked back at her.

"Well, that was... that... _um_..."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End the story however you wish, I prefer to leave it open ended.
> 
> The triggering effect probably fades away after a few more months. That doesn't stop Steve and Bucky, though ;)


End file.
